A Song of Desert Gold
by A Diamond in the Rough
Summary: Gravely wounded on the borders of Harad, Glorfindel is taken to safety by a Hasharin general and healed by a young apprentice: Payesha Sainath, disciple to the Queen. Acquaintances become friends, and as the months go by, Glorfindel remains...until at last he must choose between his homeland and the vibrant woman that returned him to life. Previously published, now being revised.
1. A Wound on the Plains

_"I did," said Glorfindel, a soft smile lifting his face. "Her name was Payesha; the most beautiful woman ever to walk this world. And no, I do not mean it literally, for though she was comely she could not hold a candle to many of her sisters. But her kindness, her spirit, and the light she bore in her eyes...they set her above all other women."_

~From _Ash Nazg of Sauron, Huidhenel of Middle Earth_

* * *

"Glorfindel."

"Elladan."

"Glorfindel."

"Elrohir."

"Glorfindel."

"Oh, for Valar's sake!" he cried out, turning and glaring at the two identical elves, who were muffling their laughter in their sleeves. "Cease your prattle for a while. I want to think."

"How can you think when we two are about?" asked Elladan, spurring his horse onward. Glorfindel sighed. More often than not, he spent most of his time around the mischievous twins, whose especial pride was their ability to heckle him and get away with it. When the two were with their father or sister, their grave eyes and smooth motions could have fooled even the sharpest elf into thinking they were no different from the rest; however, Glorfindel had known them since they were identical babes in their mother's arms. He had learned, over the years, that he was the only one whom Elladan and Elrohir bothered in such a way.

""You two may think you know Middle-Earth like the backs of your polished hands, but neither of you have ever been this far South, and I would thank you to hold your tongues."

"That, dear friend," said Lindir, "would be wonderful. Lord Elrond was too gentle with the both of you," he said, glaring at the twins. "You two never had a good whipping, even when you needed it."

"Trust me," growled Glorfindel, flicking the reins. "I've whipped the two more often than I remember."

"I still don't understand why we had to come," said Elrohir.

"To harass Glorfindel, of course," answered his brother.

Glorfindel gritted his teeth. "We have come here because there was word of an infestation of orcs. As a larger party would be too easy to see, only four of us are coming this far, with a hunddred-strong force a little way behind. You are here because you were tired of the camp and needed some entertainment."

He exhaled in relief when the twins did not reply; knowing them as he did, the very fact that they kept silent should have alerted him to the fact that something was amiss. When Elrohir quietly gasped, he swung his horse around and shouted to Lindir, who was ten paces ahead.

"Draw your bow!"

A black, crawling mass had appeared over the crest of a hill slightly to the east. It was thickening by the moment; Glorfindel's eyes had already gauged the gap left between the orcs and the thorny thickets, and realized with a sinking feeling that there was no way that they could break through. Elrohir and Elladan had already nocked arrows and sent them flying to the east, and it took only a moment for the other two to follow suit.

To Glorfindel, it seemed that only a second had passed before they were surrounded by orcs and his three companions were lost to view. He was soon covered in black orc blood, swinging his head this way and that in a desperate attempt to catch sight of Lindir or the twins. As he beheaded an orc, the strange feeling came upon him that the four of them and the orcs were not the only beings there in the dusty hills. He turned, narrowly dodging an iron mace, and glimpsed a line of glimmering silver at the mouth of the valley. Glorfindel exhaled in relief, thinking that it was the elves whom they had left behind in the camps. The thought entered his head that they must have proceeded extremely quietly to creep around three or four hills completely unnoticed, but then he realized that the faces of these people were dark, burned brown by the sun. The little army was flanked by beasts with immense tusks, ancient-looking creatures with hides like scarred leather.

A sense of awe stole into his veins. The Haradrim were truly a force to behold, and in that instant, Glorfindel would not have cared whether they sided with the orcs or not, even if he had known them to be hard and cruel of heart. The Haradrim were headed by a slender figure hair gleaming so fiercely in the sun that Glorfindel wondered if it was dyed. The woman's eyelids were painted black, and her skin was slightly lighter than that of her fellows. She held a single lance in one hand, and with a strangely fluid movement, she swept it down and the Haradrim plunged into the valley and toward the skirmish below the hills.

His moment of distraction cost him dearly, for as he stood looking at the woman atop the horse, an orc crept up behind him and struck the back of his head with a wooden club.

* * *

The woman sat atop a delicately built horse, looking about her. All around the valley, bodies of orcs lay scattered over the sands, with arrows fletched with golden, blue and green feathers piercing their bodies. Three of the four elves had fled, but for one who lay insensible beneath a particularly brutish-looking orc. When she had first passed him, she had thought she was dead; a gaping wound in his head poured blood onto his golden hair. However, when she had stooped to examine it, she had seen that though he had probably suffered a concussion, the wound itself had not penetrated the bone, and he was still breathing. She had no doubt that he could recover. After all, the Haradrim possessed medicine which could rival even the elves. So she had given the order that he be placed upon one of the mumakil and carried back to Kalsini, the capital of Harad.

Anjana scanned the corpses to the west and the north, frowning slightly. _The orcs have grown bolder,_ she thought. _Never before have we had to slaughter them across our borders. What is it that they are seeking here? And to whom do they owe allegiance?_

"My lady Anjana," said a young man who had come up behind her. "Our scouts have sent word." A plump grey dove sat on his shoulder, cooing softly. Tied to its leg was a tiny scroll, such as those the Haradrim used to send messages over long distances when a scout could not return quickly enough.

Anjana plucked the dove from the man's shoulder. "A camp of elves is in the area; however, a nine-thousand strong band of orcs lie between you and them. Your wounded elf will not be able to rejoin his people for a time."

"It's just as well that we sent him on to Kalsini, then," she said with a sigh. "No one has fallen, and we have an elf separated from his people. Come, Akhat."

The two spurred their slender ponies forward and disappeared into the dust.

* * *

Glorfindel awoke in darkness.

He realized, within an instant after opening his eyes, that his head was ringing with an excruciating pain that seemed to originate from the back of his head. In the faint moonlight, he could discern gleaming marble walls, and the shimmer of gold from the ceiling. He sat up gingerly, noting that his head had been expertly bandaged, with some numbing herb packed over his flesh. As his eyes adjusted to the soft glow issuing from the window, he noticed that the room was airy with a high, arched door.

Suddenly, weariness stumbled over him like a tide. As a wave of pain washed through his skull anew, he laid down his head and surrendered once more to sleep.

* * *

The sun dawned amid a glory of bright red, as was often the case in Harad. As Anjana had often told her young apprentice, Payesha, Harad was heavy with the blood its people had spilled to protect its borders from the rest of the world. Though Harad had largely gone unnoticed by men, elves, and dwarves, it was bordered to the north by a particularly warlike nation-Rhun. What most of Aksha (called Middle-Earth by most of the other free peoples) considered to be Harad was actually three distinct nations; Khand, Rhun, and Harad. Because all three states wrapped around the east and south of the Rhovanion and Mordor, few people ever went that way.

The reputation of the Haradrim as fierce and warlike _was_ merited. Even Payesha, who had been indignant when she heard how Harad was looked upon, could not deny it. Not even fact that most of that reputation came from Rhun left the Haradrim any doubt to believe that they were any gentler than they truly were.

A truth that had very much fallen below widespread knowledge was the beauty of the Haradrim. It was rumored that the Haradic longevity (which was seventy years longer than that of most mortal men) as well as the characteristic delicate features could all be traced back to the elves; yet not even the most learned scribe could be sure when or even if such an intermingling of mortal and elven blood had occurred. It was the face of Payesha that had convinced Anjana that the essence of the Firstborn must run within Haradrim veins.

Payesha Sainath was a young healer, and exhibited all the beauty of her forebears. She was lovely even among Haradrim women, with flowing curves, large pitch-colored eyes, a wealth of gleaming raven hair, a slender neck, and a rugged brow which cast a look of masculine strength about her face. Her face was, as usual, veiled with a thin piece of tightly woven fabric to keep out the dust, which crept into the rooms of Kalsini even by night. Yet even the veil left no doubt as to the truth of Payesha's loveliness, for Anjana had taught her to carry herself in a manner worthy of her beauty and her blood.

That morning, Payesha was wakened by her mistress tapping gently at her door. Payesha sprang from her bed, rushed across the cold marble floor, and lifted the latch to admit Anjana (who was her teacher as well as her liege).

Anjana laughed softly to see her apprentice in such a hurry. She was already garbed for the day, dressed in a fluid silver armor with her weapons slung across her back. All that remained to be put on her was her general's paint. As Anjana's disciple, it was Payesha's duty to open the little glass jars of smooth black powder, mix their contents with water, and paint Anjana's face. It was a job that enthralled Payesha, because Anjana's decoration was always elaborate. As captain of the guard, Anjana would have stark black eyebrows, black eyelids, black vines and patterns weaving across her cheeks, and, lastly, full black lips. Unlike most of the female warriors, Anjana had no qualms about revealing the outlines of her hips, bosom, and waist through her armor, even on the battlefield. When Payesha had asked her why, Anjana had merely replied that the very fact that she was a woman would compromise her enemy's guard.

"You're up early today, my lady," said Payesha, walking briskly over to her cupboard for fresh pots of kohl powder. She plucked three from a shelf and emptied the dusty black paint into a clay bowl, to which she added a dash of water from the slender jug beside the bed. As Payesha stirred the mixture, Anjana tied her long hair into a bun.

"I am," she said, allowing no sign of weariness to seep past the practiced exterior which every general unconsciously adopted after a few years of command. "We had some trouble with orcs near the northwestern border yesterday, and my legion and I are returning to see that all is still well. As it happens, Payesha, I have a job for you to do today while I am not here. In fact, it will be your work for some time."

"What is it?" asked Payesha, cleaning a little horsehair brush. Noting her movements, Anjana closed her eyes expectantly, and Payesha began applying gleaming paint to the lowered lids.

"Yesterday, after the orcs were taken care of, I found an elf at the brink of death. Apparently, he'd been separated from his party before the battle, for there were only three others with him, and I doubt four elves would ride this far south alone. You need higher training in your healing, and it will be both to his benefit and yours that you complete this section of your studies with the elf."

Payesha nodded, a concerned look entering her dark eyes. "I saw the elf brought in yesterday. Will he live, my Lady?"

"His skull has been cracked, but not badly enough to touch the brain beneath. Beyond that, I doubt there can be much the matter with him but shock. Elves are a hardy people, and he shall recover within time."

"Pardon my boldness, my Lady, but if he will recover within time and you know so, why have you assigned me to his care? Shouldn't I be looking after someone who is more badly wounded than that?"

"You need instruction in the care of a person, looking after the smaller things and making them comfortable," Anjana reminded her. "Do you remember what happened last week? You neglected to numb the wound when you stitched up the gouge in Garaam's leg and gave him such a strong pain cordial the next day that it knocked him out for three hours. I've rather neglected your education in that way, although I know you can disinfect any wound and set any shattered bone."

Payesha blushed violently, and almost ruined the coloring on Anjana's eyebrows. "There, my lady, I'm done."

Anjana cast a critical look at her reflection in the mirror and then nodded. "Well done, Payesha. Go get your breakfast and then go to the infirmary to see to the elf. If he is conscious, try not to alarm him. He _should_ be able to understand Westron, and one can never be sure what Elven language one of the Firstborn speaks, anyway."

"The blonde ones generally come from The Valley of Singing Gold and speak Quenya. I asked the loremaster once," Payesha offered.

"No matter, he'll be able to understand you if you've been properly studying your Westron," said Anjana, getting up and hoisting her bow. "I shall see you in the evening, Payesha, and ask you how it goes."

With a ripple of her shining silver cloak, Anjana left the room. Payesha lifted her green day-dress from her cupboard and changed quickly before hurrying to the dining hall. A chorus of whistles greeted her as she reached the foot of the stares leading into the hall, and she blushed again. Payesha was one of the most sought-after young women in northern Harad, and had suitors in droves since she was sixteen. However, she walked past the gang of boys with her head held high, and went to the girls' table, where she greeted her two friends, Ninitha and Khala.

"What took you so long?" asked Ninitha, pushing a bowl of coconut milk toward Payesha, along with a plate of shredded mutton.

"Anjana wanted her paint done early today," said Payesha. Both Ninitha and Khala were lady's maids, and understood the importance of the adornment. They nodded and then returned their attention to their food.

"What are you going to do today, Yesha?" asked Khala. "Our ladies have given us the day off, and we know the squadron's left. Will you come with us to the pools? We haven't had a good swimming day for as long as I can remember."

"Anjana left me work to do while she's out," said Payesha, feeling the loss of her day off. "Yesterday's legion got in a sick elf from the border, and I've got to look after him."

"After last week's fiasco?" said Ninitha. "You could have easily killed Garaam with that sleeping draught."

Payesha's face flamed scarlet for a third time, and she attacked her meat with a vengeance. Ninitha chortled. Khala's lips went white.

"It isn't funny," she hissed, burying her nose in her bowl of milk. Payesha cast her an apologetic glance; she had forgotten how taken Khala was with the strong, quiet Garaam with his kind eyes and uproarious laughter.

"I'll see you two at dinner," she said, getting up. "I'm off."

"Oy, Yesha!" came Ninitha's shout. Payesha turned.

"What is it, Nini?"

"I've heard that elves are devilishly handsome. Try not to break the fellow's heart."

Payesha rolled her eyes, passed the group of chattering boys, and went towards the infirmary.

* * *

Glorfindel had been pleasantly surprised to find it light when he awoke.

 _At least I have not entered the halls of Mandos once again,_ he thought. _This place is easily lovely enough to be so, but too...dry._ It took him a few moments to realize that he could not be far from where he had received the injury. He had been at the border or Harad, and one of the Hasharin soldiers must have come across his body. Glorfindel looked around, taking in the luxury about him with no small measure of astonishment. Veins of gold shone in the walls and it seemed that the very building he was in was made of marble.

The pain in his head, though very much present, was far duller than it had been when he had woken in the night. He settled himself back against his pillows, finding that closing his eyes offered a nearly instant relief. He toyed with the idea of going to sleep again, and regretfully decided that he should at least try to get up and have a look out of the window, which admitted a warm and pleasant breeze. When he looked more closely, he saw that the window was screened by some sort of tight, clear cloth to keep out the sand.

Presently, he heard a gentle knock at his door. He glanced toward his dagger, which was lying close at hand on a strange little wooden table that looked as if it might fold under too much weight. After deciding that he likely had no need of it (his life _had_ been saved, after all) he called, "Come in."

The girl that entered was undeniably one of the Haradrim. She had a gleaming copper skin, long black hair, and a striking, high-boned face which boasted an overhanging brow and full scarlet mouth. Her face was veiled with a light cloth which was much the same as the fabric that shaded the windows.

"Ah, you're awake," she said in heavily accented Westron, setting down her tray on the precarious little table. Glorfindel eyed it for a moment, expecting it to collapse. When it didn't, he turned his attention back to the girl, who seemed to be uncertain as to whether or not he had understood her words.

"Where am I, my lady?" he asked. "And what happened to me?" He winced at how... _mortal...and uncultured..._ his words sounded, but he dismissed it. Finding out where he was and what exactly had happened to him was far more important than trivial courtesy. The girl smiled, relieved at finding herself understood.

"You're in Kalsini, the capital of Harad," said the girl, taking the lid off a pot of some sort of savory-smelling soup. "I'm not exactly sure what happened, but according to my mistress, your skull is cracked, though not very badly. It's more of a flesh wound. I expect your head was hit by an orc's club or something similar."

"My companions!" he cried, remembering Lindir and the twins. "Where are they? Have they fallen?"

"So far as I know, you were the only elf found there. My mistress mentioned that there were three others, but she did not say they were killed or captured."

Glorfindel inclined his head, relieved. "What is your name, my lady?" A look of confusion came over her face, and he realized that she had not understood him.

" _What_ is my name?" she asked, slowly, stumbling over the syllables. "Ah...its...meaning? Is that right?" She furrowed her brow in confusion. "I am mistaking this, am I not?"

"Perhaps, my Lady. I do not ask for the meaning of your name, simply the name itself."

"Oh!" she said. "Then why did you not say, 'how are you called?'" She set a bowl of the fragrant soup before him, and he found with some surprise that he had a hearty appetite. He ate slowly, so as not to jar the back of his head more than necessary.

"I suspect it is nothing more than a difference in grammar between Haradrim and Westron, my lady," he said with a smile. "In that case, I shall ask you properly. Fair lady, how are you called?"

"Payesha Sainath," she said with a sweeping bow, and allowed him to kiss the tips of her fingers. "And you are, Lord?"

"Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, from Rivendell," he answered. "Only my friend's twin sons call me that, however, and it gets tiresome. Call me Glorfindel."

Payesha silently sounded the name out, and he realized that she was trying to pronounce it without a Haradaic accent.

"Glorfindel," she said slowly. Then she cast a look at his bandaged head. "Are you in pain at all?"

"Some. Is this a pain-reducing herb that has been packed under the bandage?"

"Yes, and some mold."

Glorfindel looked up at her, puzzled.

"Mold? You mean the filth upon old fruit?"

"Here, we have a type upon date fruit that routs infection." She drew forth a vial of some white liquid and handed it to him once he had finished his soup.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It will help you to sleep," she said, gathering up her things. "The healers say that sleep is the best thing you can have at this stage after injury, and I shall be back in an hour or so to see to you, and one of the healers will come in every fifteen minutes or so to make sure you are all right."

Glorfindel permitted her to take away the bowl and then uncorked the phial. Payesha had turned away, so he put the phial to his lips and drained it.

Suddenly, Payesha turned back to him. "Oh, by the way, only take a quarter of-" Glorfindel's eyelids fluttered, and he promptly began to snore. In horror, Payesha snatched up the phial and groaned at the sight. The bottle was decidedly empty.

" _Shala._ No!" She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, wondering what she could possibly do. Another thought came to her and she groaned, banging her head against the marble wall with a resounding _thud._ "Wait until Ninitha and Khala find out I've done it _again!_ "


	2. First Meeting

Anjana strode up the gleaming white steps to Kalsini's front entrance.

She stopped for a moment, and cast an affectionate glance over the pale, glittering palace, which was illuminated in brilliant hues of violet and gold in the light of the setting sun. It had been her home ever since she had wed the king, or the _krigsherre,_ as he was called. Her husband, a burly young man with an impish smile and large ears, spent most of his days training the younger soldiers and instructing the low-ranking commanders. His name was Lashanth, though she often called him Lasha simply to see the red rise in his cheeks and neck. Payesha was like a daughter to them both; she received her priestess's training from Lashanth and a few other priests in the afternoon, and her lessons in healing were delivered by Anjana in the evenings and sometimes the mornings.

As the two guards flanking the lapis-inlaid door bowed to her, she strode past them and into the entrance hall, which was adorned by fine paintings, priceless gems, and a gold-embroidered carpet upon the floor. She had barely the time to hand her bow and daggers to an attendant when she felt something hit her from behind and swarm up her back to perch on her shoulders. Anjana looked upward to see the round, gleeful face of her four-year-old daughter peering down at her.

"My Kamala," she said, plucking the child from her shoulders and cradling her in her arms. "My baby." Anjana pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead and started up the wide staircase with Kamala on her right him. "What did you do all the day while I was gone?"

"I sneaked into the servants' hall."

Anjana sighed. "Have I not told you time and again that you are too small to go down there? You could get hurt, and I would never know." She tossed Kamala into the air, and the little girl shrieked in delight. "Do you want me to leave the Guard and stay at home to mind you?"

"No. Payesha is lots more fun when you're not here," said Kamala complacently.

Her mother lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?" Anjana fervently prayed that Payesha had not conjured up yet another mad scheme with Ninitha and Khala. On a previous occasion, they had exchanged the signs that announced the entrances to the boys' and the girls' dancing-halls. Several young girls had fainted upon seeing a band of raucous boys come crashing into the girls' dancing room.

"Oh, she killed her newest patient. Killed him dead, one of the seamstresses said so. I was under the table while she was talking to a cook."

Anjana stopped short.

"Killed her newest-"

"The elf. Everyone says that one oughtn't to trust Yesha with any kind of sleeping draught-"

"Oh, sweet Deva." Anjana stuffed Kamala unceremoniously into the arms of a nearby maid and ran up to the third floor. She had a stitch in her side by the time she reached the infirmary, and was clutching her side in a rather ungainly fashion when she burst into Glorfindel's sickroom. He had been looking at a map in his pack. Payesha was by his side, and she held a quill in one hand.

"K _alsini ought to be right about here_ ," she murmured in Westron, pointing to a spot on the map. " _We're quite near the border and only a few leagues from the sea, so this is where we'd be."_ Payesha took the map from Glorfindel and drew a six-pointed star on a spot to the south and west of Mordor.

"What is going on?" asked Anjana in Haradic, addressing Payesha directly. "I leave for just one day and I come back...and apparently the servants have been gossiping about you killing the elf? WHAT has happened, Payesha?"

Payesha lifted her brows. "Nothing happened, my Lady. I brought Glorfindel breakfast in the morning, gave him a sleeping-draught, and then came back to talk with him. To improve my Westron, you know. I'm still terrible with the grammar and he's been helping me. And then he brought out a map of Aksha and asked me where we were. His map hasn't got any cities plotted in Harad at all, so I just told him where Kalsini should be."

Now it was Anjana's turn to lift an eyebrow. "Glorfindel?"

"That's his name. Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower."

"What is he, a prince?"

At this, Payesha's jaw dropped and she turned back to Glorfindel. _"I forgot to inform you, my lord, that my liege and tutor is also the queen of Harad. You are standing in her presence."_

Glorfindel's eyes widened. "My greatest apologies, my Lady. I had no notion that I was in the presence of royalty." Anjana's jaw dropped; Glorfindel had uttered the two sentences in near-perfect Haradic.

She inclined her head to him in response and then answered in Westron. " _If you would excuse the two of us, Glorfindel, I must have Payesha now. I have returned late and she will have hardly any time for her studies at this rate."_

Glorfindel nodded. " _Of course, my Lady. And-I have not thanked you properly for saving me yesterday. If not for you, I would probably have died by the time my companions returned. I owe you my life."_

Anjana waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. " _Of course not. And I did nothing; It was my attendant who walked all the way back to Kalsini so that you would not be jostled too much by the horse. Rest well tonight, and keep off the back of your head if you can."_

 _"Thank you, my Lady."_

As soon as Glorfindel showed signs of reclining upon his pillows, Anjana seized Payesha around her wrist and practically dragged her from the room. Though the previous queen of the Haradwaith, Lashanth's dead mother, would have thought it scandalously improper, Anjana was only twenty-six and merely seven years older than Payesha herself. "What happened? Do not say that the rumor about you killing him was entirely unwarranted. I know enough by now to realize that although the servants of Kalsini may have wagging tongues, there is a grain of truth in nearly every embroidered tale they tell. So, tell me," Anjana had recovered from her shock, and her voice was no longer strained. "What went on today?"

"Well, I accidentally overdosed him with sleeping-draught," said Payesha with a shrug. "The servants got that part right, at least. But it was the weakest one, so he woke up before long. I had nothing else to do, so I talked with him. I embarassed myself thoroughly in the morning-he asked me for my name, and I mistook the intent behind his questions. He asked me to teach him basic Haradic."

"So that you did not embarrass yourself again in Westron? You looked to be doing quite well in it from the little I heard."

"I think that's why, although, of course, he was far too polite to say so, my Lady." Payesha made a wry face. "Either way, I think I've made an interesting friend."

"All right. I'll concede that if you've done any damage today, it was ephemeral and entirely accidental," said Anjana with a grin.

"What lessons have I to-night?" asked Payesha, trying and failing to smother a yawn that suddenly took hold of her.

"None, child. Go rest. It was merely a ruse."

Payesha yawned again and then stumbled off to bed.


	3. The Firestorm

Anjana stripped off her boots, exhausted nearly beyond belief.

The armory was deserted, for not even a mouse stirred on the cool floor below her feet. She had been delayed on the way back from patrol; her horse's shoe had suddenly splintered, and she had already remained behind so she could more closely examine something that she had noticed on the ride out from Kalsini. As she was passing a date palm, she had seen that a cross and an eye had been hacked into its bark. Anjana had dismissed it as a childish prank, until she and her company were returning from the border. She recalled, as a child, that her parents and older siblings had forbidden her from playing where the scouts ran their patrols, as orcs and bandits frequently strayed within the boundaries of the Haradwaith. She doubted a group of children would stray so far from their mothers into an area about which the patrols brought home chilling tales at least every few months. The sign had been irking her all the way back, and when she has passed the tree a second time, she noticed something that made a chill creep up her spine.

Above the cross and the eye was a third image-a crude carving of her husband's amulet, the seal which was the symbol of the _krigsherre's_ rule. No one had been in sight. It disturbed her, as if there was some meaning behind the symbols. She thought back to the orc attack which had occurred three weeks previously, and wondered if the two could possibly be connected. Although Mordor had long been silent and still, there were, betimes, days when a wind from the north would carry with it a foul stench, and the feeling, rather than the sound, of something stirring on the other side of the black mountains.

Lashanth was already in bed by the time she reached their chambers, and he murmured and sat up, still half-asleep, as she put on her nightgown and climbed into bed beside him.

"You look troubled," he said quietly, opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbow to look at her. "What ails you, sweetheart?"

"I found some strange carvings on a palm while I was on patrol today," she answered, relaxing in his embrace. "None of my company could have done it, and certainly none of the children..."

"The lads have been growing more daring, but I think even they know not to stray near the border," Lashanth said with a frown. "I shall alert the watch, and tell them to send a few men out to the border tonight."

"No, I sent a dove ahead before I returned," said Anjana. "Twenty men should be there now. They passed me when I was five leagues from here."

He nodded. "Good." Lashanth scrutinized her face more closely, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "There is something more troubling you, Anju."

"The winds from Mordor bear a strange voice nowadays, as if the dark one has returned," said Anjana. She turned her face up to his, finally unveiling the nameless fear that lurked in her heart. "You know that Sauron took the Variags from Khand-our own Southrons-the Easterlings of Rhun-yanked them from our lands until the leaders of Rhun allied themselves with Him and turned upon us and upon Khand."

"If he returns, this will be the fate we will come against," answered Lashanth. "There is naught else that will come to pass, and every Haradrim within our border knows it to be so."

"We must ward ourselves from him," said Anjana, a spark kindling in her black eyes. "Send emissaries to the other Eastern nations-"

"All in good time," he said. "Trust me when I say that when the time to act comes, we will know. For now, we will have to ward our borders with the priestesses' song-magic, and cast the spells well. Do you know anyone who would be willing to lead the rites?"

"Song-magic is taxing, Lasha, and to lead such a tiring endeavour would easily kill a delicate priestess. You know this as well as I."

"But you know as well as I that there is only one young priestess suited to the job, and she is one whom it would be hard to kill with a meat-axe." Anjana smiled t his words. "Why, I've seen her work magicks which would even tire you on the best days, and without even a change in her breathing."

"Payesha," Anjana smiled. "That one has the vim and energy I have seen in no other woman."

"Of course," said Lashanth, wrapping an arm about her waist. "Ask her tomorrow, and I shall have as many priestesses accompany her as can be spared. It would be a tragedy indeed if one of them perished in the act. Now sleep, Anju. We have much to prepare for tomorrow."

* * *

"Payesha, child," called Lashanth, picking out his wife's apprentice among the swarm of girls heading for the midday meal. "Anjana would like to see you in the council chambers. The gathering shall discuss the preparations for the fire moon."

Payesha left Ninitha and Khala and made her way toward her liege.

"Preparations for the fire moon?" she asked, perplexed. "Why would she need me? I know none of the protective enchantments at all."

"You may be needed for some of the heavier spellwork, and she will teach you anything that you may be required to learn," he explained. "This year is hotter than the last, and I would have us better prepared."

She bowed her head and followed him to the underground councilchamber, where they found an assembly of thirty awaiting them. There were two seats at the head of the table; Anjana filled the one on the left, while Lashanth dropped into the one at her right. Payesha found the chair on Anjana's other side, and then turned her eyes expectantly to her mistress, who nodded at the other members of the council.

"How well-protected are the livestock and dwellings for the fire-month?" she asked. To the woman at Payesha's left, she said, "And what of the amulets for the citizens?"

"We have required all of the citizens to come to the out-posts and have the amulets bound into their hair," explained the matron, whose name was Ronin. "Not a one has been neglected, not even the new-born children. For those babes due to be born in the next month or so, we have given their amulets to the mothers."

Anjana nodded and turned to a man sitting close to the other end of the table.

"Every beast west and north of the border has had the charms embedded in its hide," he said, puffing up his chest proudly. Anjana suppressed a smile with difficulty, for he was her younger cousin, and this was his first season on the council. "And every dwelling is warded as well."

"Good, then. And the reservoirs for the rain after?"

"They are completed, my lady, and are ready to be brought out the moment the rains begin."

"As ever, the spellwork that takes place within the citadel often wars with the fireward, and so yet again we must appoint a group of spellcasters for the work. Those among you who teach the young mages: which among your fellows and your pupils have the power for this task?" Lashanth cast his eyes to the left side of the table, where the senior spellweavers sat.

"To join us, we shall have Taniya Qais, Kiev Badhar, Finir Ilvesara..." the list went on, until about twenty were named. "Are we correct in saying that you will join us, Queen Anjana? And Payesha as well?"

"I may not be able to take part in the enchanting," said Anjana reluctantly. "For with orcs daring to cross our borders, I shall have to be at the posts day and night in the coming weeks. But yes, Payesha will join you."

* * *

After waking four days previously, Glorfindel had been left almost wholly to himself. Every hour, an apprentice or an older healer would visit his room, examine him, question him briefly in fluent or halting Westron, and then depart to see to their other duties. Payesha, the healer who had first woken him, had been to see him only once, shortly after noon that day. She had brought him the noon meal-mutton stewed with a collection of unfamiliar vegetables-and bidden a serving-boy to remain in the room to wait on him. He had been rather taken aback, and found himself somewhat discomfited by the lad, whose sharp eyes followed his every movement like that of a curious bird.

"How many summers are you, child?" he asked. The boy cocked his head and raised both his palms with the fingers spread wide. "Should you not be at your lessons?" he asked, privately displeased at the fact that the palace seemed to employ servants that were little more than babes-in-arms.

"These be my studies," said the boy in heavily accented tones. "Only when I have reached thirteen years of age shall I have proved my obedience and respect to my masters, and they will begin to teach me the arts of healing. All the children of the city must spend three years serving, be they lowly born or high, and obey their masters' every command."

"And your master's order was to serve the invalids?" he asked, a smile quirking at the corner of his lip despite himself.

"Nay, my usual work is to fetch tinctures and salves for the others," said the boy placidly. "But the Queen herself gave me to the Lady Payesha the day you were wounded, to act on your behalf in her stead when she was elsewhere. I am to be your servant until my lady sees fit to return me to Master Hakim."

"Lad, I need no servant," said Glorfindel gently. "It is many years indeed since I was wounded or waited upon, and I would not keep you from your learning. I do not believe I must needs remain more than another week or so."

"Then for that week, I am your servant," said the lad, as unruffled as ever. "Were you to give me no order at all, or banish me from the room, still I would remain, for I am in the service of one higher than you."

"Do you wish for an order?" asked the elf, amused at the child's disposition.

"Nay, lord," came the reply. "I wish for nothing. I am fed and housed and clothed by my master, and given by him my hours of leisure and learning. I have no wish at all save your recovery at present, and am content to remain here in silence if that be your will."

"Has this glorious hall a place where books are kept?" questioned Glorfindel.

"Aye, and there are volumes in Westron, if you desire them," said the child, springing to his feet. "Would you have me fetch some?"

"If it does not trouble you, small one," said the elf, inclining his head. "I give you my thanks. Before you depart-how are you called?"

"Shasta," said the lad. The boy darted away, and Glorfindel leaned back upon the pillows.

It was at that moment that a terrific crack sounded outside the window, and the sunlight was suddenly veiled. Shasta skidded back into the room, his face alight.

"The firestorm!" he shouted, running to the window and throwing back the panes. "My Lord, the firestorm has come at last!"

"Firestorm?" asked Glorfindel, pushing himself from the bed and making his way across the room with legs that hardly trembled.

"Have they none where you come from?" asked Shasta incredulously. "Look!"

Glorfindel looked beyond the high walls of the citadel at a great mass of black and purple clouds, sweeping in from the horizon and moving as if on wings. They rumbled ominously, but there seemed to be not a trace of rain-nor of fire, despite what the child had said.

"Come, my lord, come! They are raising the lightning poles!"

Supported on Shasta's eager arm, Glorfindel left the room and joined the swarm of people that had suddenly filled the corridors. Some were flying up the stairways to the uppermost levels, eager for the finest view of the spectacle, but many more were rushing downward to glimpse the lightning from the sands below. Shasta joined the former crowd, pulling the elf behind him, until they reached what Shasta explained was the tenth level of the citadel. There, he found a balcony for himself and Glorfindel to sit in. He had drawn up a chair for the elf, who scarcely noticed it at all-for he was clinging to the balustrade, eyes wide, watching the melee streaming into the desert beneath them. Some were clearly sorceresses, for they had taken ponies and ridden as far forth as they dared, stopping at places in the sand-all facing the coming storm. They raised their hands and the sand began to flow from below them, sinking until it revealed gleaming metal poles lying lengthwise in the earth, scattered through the sands as far as the eye could see. Each one was attached to a system of cranks and wheels, and the sorcerers leapt nimbly off their horses and began to turn, until all of the lightning-poles rose into the air as one; even the shortest of them towered well above the roof of the citadel. The remaining spellcasters turned back and seemed to be raising some wort of ward about the crowd.

Shasta laughed in relief and scrambled up onto the balusters beside Glorfindel.

"Now it will begin," he said, all a-tremble with excitement. "You shall see."

Glorfindel's eyes grew nearly to the size of saucers as the clouds changed color, with great flashes of orange and gold gleaming and dying by turns within them. Each piercing glow was accompanied by a thunderous roar, until at last the clouds trembled and belched forth a river of lightning. Not white, as Glorfindel had expected, but fiery gold and burning orange, like the thickest branches of living trees. The palest bolts streaked toward the lightning-poles, striking them and illuminating them in a storm of riotous color-and were gone in a heartbeat, streaming harmlessly into the sand. The elf could feel his own heart galloping over the bellowing of the heavens, and he put his hand to his chest in a vain attempt to steady its beating.

"Valar," breathed Glorfindel, a strange mixture of terror and joy crowding up into his breast.

"It is lovely, is it not?" came the satisfied voice of Shasta from beside him.

Glorfindel said nothing, for his speech had been stolen by the wild, deadly beauty that filled the skies above him.


	4. Healer, Soldier, Mother, Queen

"Payesha, child, you must rest for a day."

Payesha opened her eyes and squinted up at her mistress, who was clad once more in tight-fitting silver armor that clung to her like a glove.

The day of the firestorm, she had performed the rather taxing work of raising the wards about the citadel. As the month grew hotter, she and the other enchanters would be required to do it again, and none of them would know respite until the clouds broke and the rains began. Payesha had been selected for the task because she was what the Haradrim called _mazduj-ayesha_ , endowed with twice the strength of a normal woman. A _mazduj_ was exceedingly rare among children, for the only women who could give birth to one were those who died after delivering a healthy girl. After the mother's death, her life-force would pass to the child, while the soul went on to its peace. It was not necessary to be _mazduj_ to learn spell-work, and indeed, some never attempted it; but they were born with a raw power that could aid in performing the most draining of song-magicks.

"I am sorry, Anjana," said Payesha, making an effort to raise herself up on her elbows. "I...I did not know that it would be so wearying the first time."

"You will grow used to it before long," said the queen consolingly, patting her apprentice's arm. "I have heard from the maids that the bathing pools are splendid this morning. Go and tell Lady Nisa and her daughter that I shall have two other maids sent to them, and to let Ninitha and Khala go with you."

"Truly?" Payesha sat up, her eyes shining. "Oh, my lady, thank you!"

"Go, then," laughed Anjana, swatting Payesha's shoulder. "Get a draft of sweet wine from the kitchen and take a day off. It will do you more good than stewing at your books for another day."

Payesha delivered the message to the two members of Anjana's entourage and returned with Ninitha and Khala by her side. Lady Nisa and Lady Liya were rather easy-going, and had not been at all difficult to persuade. The three girls flew through the lower levels of the citadel until they reached the bottom-most, deep below the burning sands that surrounded the city. The cool subterranean chambers were softly lit by candles burning in lamps of rocky salt, rose and peach and golden in hue. The bathing pools, fed by pipes that passed cool water through the hot earth above, were illuminated from within by unearthly bespelled globes set into the floors and sides. The three girls bypassed the warm pools for the cooler ones, stripping off to their chemises and sinking gratefully into the cold water.

"Lady Payesha?" came a voice from the pool beside theirs. The girls peered over the surface of the water and laughed at the sight that met their eyes.

Glorfindel was standing upright in the coolness, while a determined-looking healer dipped water over his golden hair, cleaning the elf's wound with precise and gentle hands. The healer shot a long-suffering look at Payesha, who laughed.

"Why, Khalim," she said, "I didn't know you had become a practicing healer."

"Promoted last week," Khalim beamed, scrubbing so enthusiastically that his patient winced. "It surely wasn't my intention to bring Glorfindel down here. Hakim thought it would be easier for him to bathe upright."

"Is it?" Payesha asked.

"Certainly," nodded Glorfindel, closing his eyes and tilting his head forward slightly to allow his caretaker to tend the base of the wound. "My Lady, the under-ground pools of your land surpass even the crystal springs of Lorien."

"Nothing in Aksha can rival the Haradwaith," laughed Payesha. "Our folk are strong and our lands enduring, guarded from the west and the north by a desert nigh impassable."

Glorfindel turned toward her as best he could. "How is it your people dwell within the desert in comfort?" he asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

"By a force that would drive peace even when others may not will it," explained Payesha. "Trade. We in the East are more warlike than you in the West, and had our dominions not been so terribly different from one another, Rhun, Harad, and Far Harad should all have destroyed one another long ago, with the realm of Khand claimed by the victor among the three."

"What prevented it?"

"The Halath desert is rich in iron and gold and precious gems," said Payesha, not noticing the exasperated glances Ninitha and Khala were exchanging behind her back. "While Far Harad is rich in fire-plains where stone and marble can be found, and fertile farmlands and jungles which yield the food we require. They cannot endure without our metal and jewels and tools of mumak-bone, as we would starve without the nourishment for which we trade our own produce. Under this agreement, Harad was brought under one set of colors, under the rule of our _krigsherre_ , Lashanth."

"And Rhun?" asked Glorfindel, having fought the Easterlings many times over the course of his life. "What of the Variags?"

"They are fiercer than most," said Payesha. "They stir unease at the border every so often, and expel their strength in skirmishes. Yet they too depend upon our gold, and have long since given up trying to invade Harad to claim the mines for themselves."

As the conversation continued, Khalim traded sly looks with the other two girls, who giggled and climbed out of the pool, wrapping their dry things about them and making their way to the staircase that led to the upper levels.

"Your friends have gone," said Glorfindel softly, furrowing his brow in pain as Khalim parted the golden locks and set about bandaging the wound again. "Khalim, I...I fear that the wound has not healed as it should."

Hearing the suddenly weakened state of his voice, Payesha lifted herself from the pool and went swiftly to his side and looked into his face.

"Khalim," she said, her throat suddenly thick with fear. "Glorfindel, you must control your breathing."

The elf's knees buckled, and Khalim hoisted him from the pool and onto the tiles that lined the floor. Payesha dropped to her knees beside him, noting with trepidation that the elf's breathing had lost its measured pace, and that his hands had begun to tremble slightly.

At that instant, Glorfindel cried out in pain, one hand gripping at his damp hair. "Khalim-" With the broken plea, his eyes rolled up into his head and his breaths slowed to an almost immeasurable rate, and Payesha reeled back against the wall in terror.

"His wound is nearly healed," said Khalim, fright hoarsening his voice as he looked up at Payesha. "The skull is sealed-"

"Levitate him to the healing halls," cried Payesha, "Now! I-I shall fetch help. Go!"

Payesha pelted up the stairs, passing an astonished Ninitha on the third flight, and made for the healing halls. Khalim was close at her heels, rapidly tiring from the work of levitating the elf behind him. Once they had reached the first level aboveground, Khalim made for the patient wards while Payesha turned into the passageway that held the Head Healer's quarters. At that instant, a thought pierced her mind with such intensity that she nearly staggered where she stood.

 _Anjana._

With that, Payesha turned tail and went up the stairs to the royal chambers, leaving a trail of water as she ran. Pounding upon the door of her mistress's quarters, she was greeted at once by the Queen herself.

"Payesha," said Anjana in astonishment. "What-"

She stopped as she caught sight of the fear upon her apprentice's face, and ran down the corridor the way Payesha had come.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Anjana, Payesha, and Khalim stood in a nearly empty healing room with the unconscious Glorfindel lying upon the pallet before them. Anjana had conducted a thorough examination of the elf, measuring his breathing, prying open his eyelids and examining his pupils, and drawing a small vial of his blood. She lifted his hands and observed the veins, which resembled bruises stamped upon the pallid skin.

"His brain is swelling against the inside of the skull," she said in some confusion, "but there is no sign of infection in the slightest."

Frowning, the queen dipped her finger into the phial of Glorfindel's blood and put it to her tongue. Her eyes widened in shock and she spat to the side, wiping her tongue clean with her sleeve.

"What is it?" asked Payesha.

"Poison," snarled Anjana, making for the rack of jeweled surgical daggers that hung ready upon the wall. "Fresh."

Payesha and Khalim exchanged frightened glances. "Who...who could have done such a thing?" whispered Khalim, his eyes filling with guilt as he looked upon his silent patient.

"Not orcs," hissed the queen, warding her skin and plunging her hands into a trough of near-boiling water to clean them. "One of our own. The poison is fresher than three days old."

"Do you know what it is?" choked Payesha.

"Aye," said Anjana, looking suddenly old. "And it does not bode well." She straightened up suddenly and turned a gleaming eye upon Payesha, who gulped.

"Go fetch fresh mold and skeins of silk thread," she commanded. "Quickly. And find someone to bring needles and buckets of hot water."

* * *

"What are you going to do?" asked Payesha. Anjana had thoroughly numbed Glorfindel to any pain by pouring a vial of sleeping-potion down his throat and muttering a sibilant incantation over his head.

"You'll see."

Anjana took up a slender razor-tipped knife in one hand and poured hot water over Glorfindel's head with the other. She then lifted a lock of sodden, dismal-looking golden strands and cleanly shaved them away from the elf's white scalp. She placed them gently on a table beside her and then lifted another lock of hair, pulling it taut; Anjana lifted a dagger with serrated edges and sliced clear through the scalp and the flesh beneath. She repeated the process twice, until she was able to peel away skin and a thin layer of muscle, baring the white bone, crisscrossed with tiny scarlet blood vessels.

Payesha silently fetched water, cloths, or slim knives at Anjana's bidding. She had seen bloodier operations carried out before; and Anjana had stopped the bleeding with a simple spell. But now, as Anjana whispered another incantation to soften the skull and sliced into the bone, Payesha felt as though she might faint. Her own knives had cut briskly into the mangled flesh of her friends time and time again, but she had never felt so torn at the sight of a comrade unconscious before her as she was now.

She saw Anjana lift away a square chunk of bone about two inches long, and place it in a bowl of some clear fluid beside her. Payesha picked up a thick syringe and filled it with a pale liquid meant to stop infection, and pressed it into the skin of his pale elbow. Anjana, meanwhile, was sewing the flap of shaven skin closed over the incision.

"What now?" asked Payesha, her voice strangely hoarse.

Anjana sat down heavily beside her, wiping her freshly-cleaned hands with a soft cloth. Glorfindel lay prone and still on the table as three younger healers entered. They removed his wet things with a charm, replacing them with a warm white tunic and breeches. They dried his hair and turned him onto his side, immobilizing him where he lay so he would not roll backward onto the gaping hole in his skull. They made to carry him onto a stretcher, but Anjana shook her head.

"Leave him," she said in exhaustion. "Don't move him, Lissa. Let him stay there at least until he regains consciousness. If we must perform another procedure before he wakes, and I doubt we will, I'll set up a room in the east wing for it."

"What now, my Lady?" Payesha repeated her question.

"His brain will have room to swell now, and I can return the bone to his head once the inflammation has reduced," sighed the queen, sagging against the back of her chair. "Never have I attempted such spells in close succession before. So many spells...took quite a bit from me," she admitted with a low laugh. Payesha started up in alarm; Anjana's usually ruddy cheeks were white beneath their coppery hue, and her breath came slowly and heavily.

"You ought to have let me!" she cried. "I'm stronger, and you must have done more than fifty spells while cutting the bone."

"Seventy-three," rasped Anjana. "I counted. But I am the head healer...I could do no less."

"You're also the captain of the guard and the queen of Harad to boot," hissed Payesha, summoning another healer, whose eyes widened at the sight of Anjana slumped in her chair. "Go and-"

"No need," came a strong and quiet voice from behind them. Payesha bowed her head as Lashanth lifted his wife into his arms as easily as if she had been a kitten.

"My Jana, what have you done to yourself?" he asked, settling her head upon his shoulder.

"Cut open the elf's skull and poured strength into him to do it," she answered. He clearly intended to reprove her for her speech, but stopped short in horror as Anjana's eyes rolled upward and a thick trickle of blood snaked out of the corner of her mouth and down her cheek. Lashanth bore her away to the main ward, calling out for a healer, and Payesha was left alone in the room with the sleeping Glorfindel. She made her way to his side and glared down at his smooth, unlined face.

"You had better recover as quickly as you can," she hissed in angry Westron. "My mistress and dearest friend has put her own life at risk for yours."

As she left the room, she did not notice the nearly imperceptible flutter of the elf's eyelids.


End file.
